


tell me not (that i am too late)

by echoesofstardust



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: (but HEA as always), Alternate Universe - Fast Food, F/M, Oblivious Pining, also peripherally a high school AU, angst and fluff as usual, unnecessary references to 'persuasion' by jane austen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22830754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoesofstardust/pseuds/echoesofstardust
Summary: Scott Moir joinsSuzanne’stwo weeks after Tessa does.(or, it’s a fast food AU.)
Relationships: Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue, slight Tessa Virtue/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 112





	tell me not (that i am too late)

**Author's Note:**

> things that don’t make sense together: fast food, ‘persuasion’ by jane austen, math references.
> 
> things that this fic tries to join together: fast food, ‘persuasion’ by jane austen, math references. (whoops.)
> 
> hi, this is self-indulgent fic (like everything I write, haha) and my one last hurrah before uni starts again for another year.
> 
> all fast food terminology/systems/processes is based on my workplace in my corner of the world, and apologies for any inaccuracies.
> 
> (also just a head's up that because the novel 'persuasion' is mentioned by the characters, there are some spoilers.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this anyway! <3

_Hi, Welcome to Suzanne’s! What can I get for you today?_

–

Scott Moir joins _Suzanne's_ two weeks after Tessa does.

She was still determined to prove herself as a trainee, all serious and focused, and him waltzing in with his bright grins and gregarious personality, charming not only everyone already working there but also Suzanne herself while _she’s_ still struggling, left her flustered and more insecure than ever.

Until he gets to her, greets her with a familiar, “Tessa! I’m so glad to see someone I know. You’re gonna need to show me what to do around here. Wouldn’t wanna embarrass myself. God, remember that math project last year? I would’ve failed that without you.”

(He wouldn’t have, she knows. He’s got the scary kind of intuition for math that feels like sorcery to Tessa. All she brought to the project was her focus and attention to detail to the marking key.)

There’s a black and white sticker on her badge that says ‘trainee’ that matches the one on his, but it’s like it doesn’t matter to his earnest eyes.

“Hi Scott,” she says, “Sure, um...the water bottles and apple juices need filling. I can show you where to grab them?”

He obediently follows her lead, listening as she points out where different stock are kept. “Are you gonna be working mainly front counter or back in the kitchen?”

“Ideally both, but starting out front for now. Keeping track of what goes into all those different burgers and wraps is a _lot_ , you know? ‘Sides, I think I’ll like talking to all the customers.”

It starts like that.

She’s the one he goes to when he has questions even though there’s probably more experienced staff he can ask.

(There’s a particularly memorable one where he’d gotten lost over how to put through the promotional vouchers and she still remembers the murderous look on the customer he was serving. She wishes that people could be more understanding that all the staff are trying their best. She took over from him but also took her sweet, sweet time taking the customer’s order with a saccharine smile plastered on her face. The vein bulging on the customer’s temple was far, far too satisfying.)

He’s the one she asks whenever she needs anything, and it only takes a couple of months and enough shared shifts for them to develop their own shorthand and prescience when taking and running orders. The speed of service when they’re both rostered on is a record-low. 

She knows it’s an important skill to work well with a variety of different people, and she discovers that she genuinely likes all her coworkers: Chiddy and Kaetlyn and Kaitlyn and Andrew and Carolina and Piper and Paul. 

But with Scott, she feels like she has a partner.

–

Here is what she discovers: Scott will come up with a nickname for literally anyone.

“Tessa, can you grab that medium latte for me for drive-thru? Does it have one sugar? Did I put one sugar?” He runs over to grab it from her anyway.

“Tess, can you make the three medium vanilla shakes for the front counter?” She tells him she’s already made them and she’s rewarded with a grin and a murmured thanks.

“T! Hey! So glad you’re working tonight. You ready to deal with the evening rush?” She doesn’t tell him she thinks she can handle any rush as long as he’s working with her.

This metamorphosis happens like the bloom of a bud in springtime: the change is so slow in the moment to moment that you don’t notice, and then you look back and realise, _oh, there’s something to be treasured here._

–

Here is another thing she discovers: Scott has some sort of radar for when dogs are coming through drive-thru. 

She's trying to give the correct change to the customer when he appears behind her, reaching around to greet the puppy in the backseat. 

"Hey there!" he says, "What's his name? Or her?" 

"His name's Charlie," the customer replies. 

Scott's holding onto the glass on one side of the open windows. Glass that Tessa had just cleaned a half-hour ago. 

"Dammit _Scott,_ " she moans, pointing at all the fingerprints he'd left on the glass that she'd just cleaned. "I just cleaned it."

"Shit, sorry, T," he apologises, with the kind of grin that tells her he got away with a lot as a kid. "I'll clean it for you again. Wouldn't want you to get in trouble."

He does, at least.

But when he does the same thing again the next time another dog goes through, leaving his fingerprints scattered like some sort of abstract painting all she gives him is a pointed look. 

He takes the hint and wipes the windows clean, whistling as he goes. 

–

One last thing: this is war.

“Chiddy!” Scott calls. “Come over here!”

She rolls her eyes at his theatrics.

Chiddy grumbles from the kitchen. “What do you guys need now?”

“Scott won’t admit that my ice-cream cone is better than his,” she says flatly.

Chiddy squints at the one in Scott’s left hand. “I agree with Tessa. Hers is better.”

“The other one’s mine, Chid,” she huffs, but she bites back a smile.

“Oh.” Chiddy straightens, opening his hands and shrugging.

Scott’s ice-cream topples over, landing with a sticky-sweet splat on the floor. “Shit. I have to clean that up.”

–

It happens on a Saturday afternoon.

The lunch rush is starting to slow and she’s flustered, her chest heaving, looking around at the splatters of drinks, the ice-cream drips, the straws out of place and the precariously tall pile of dining trays that need to be wiped.

She’s mentally thinking through what needs to be tackled first—and looking for their trainees, they’re the ones who need to learn what to do, where are they when you need them?—when she looks up and sees him walk through the door.

With his bright blue eyes, broad shoulders, and mysterious half-smile, there’s a reason why every other girl at their high school swoons over Stefan Menendez. Including Tessa. 

Especially since she’s suspected that he was the one who had left her the present at her locker for her last birthday. She’s never been entirely, one hundred percent certain—she’s too rational and analytical to immediately give in to every flight of fancy—but there were too many coincidences that pointed to him. And to Tessa, even though math is not her strongest subject, a pattern means _something_ . Enough of _something_ that her heart flutters every time his eyes meet hers.

“Hey, Tessa.”

“Hey!” she practically squeaks. God, she wants to melt into a puddle on the floor. “What can I get for you today?”

“Just the axel burger in a regular meal, thanks.”

“Is that a single, double or triple?” 

(Tessa’s sure Suzanne had fun when she was coming up with names for all their products. The former-figure-skating-coach-turned-fast-food-outlet-owner must have loved trying to shove as many figure-skating puns in their menu.)

“Double is good,” he tells her, his smile like the sort you’d find on posters at the dentist.

“Stefan!” Scott pops up from where he’d been refilling stock.

“Scott! My man!”

He and Scott do this weird and complicated handshake the way all the guys seem to do.

“How’s it going?” Scott asks, the stack of sundae lids he’s got in his hand nearly falling. Tessa holds her hand out to steady it without thinking. “Thanks, T.”

“Great. Tessa here took care of me.”

“Yeah? That’s T for you. She’s amazing.”

She hides her smile. That’s Scott for you, handing out absent-minded compliments about literally everyone, while still sounding genuine when he says every single one.

She has to run a couple more orders for drive-thru before his order is ready, but she bags his order as quickly as she can once it’s appeared down the heat chute. She hands the paper bag with his burger and fries over to him.

“Tessa? Can I also have a packet of BBQ sauce?”

“Oh! Yeah, um, sure.” She reaches for the packet of sauce, nearly knocking stuff over on the way. She swears under her breath. Her hand grazes his as she hands it over to him, sending a riotous swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

"Thanks. See you around, Tess," Stefan winks. 

Her heart’s still fluttering in her chest as he’s walking away, sure that a pink flush is high on her cheeks.

“Oh.” 

She whips her head around to find Scott with his mouth agape, a crumpled cup in his hand. 

“What?” He looks like a child who’s just seen the ocean for the first time.

“You like him, T,” he says softly, grabbing another cup and turning back to the drinks machine to fill the drink he’s making. His jaw clenches. 

“No, I don’t!” she hisses. Shit, shit, shit.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers. “You gave him the extra packet of sauce without charging.”

“No one else charges anyone. You give extra sauce free all the time!”

“Yeah, but _you_ always charge, ‘cause it’s the rules, I know. That’s the first time you haven’t. You don’t have to hide it. It’s okay—Stefan’s one of the better guys I know.”

“No, it’s—it’s not what you think, I don’t—” She needs to convince him he’s not right. Even though he is.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” he says. “You can—you can trust me. That’s your business.”

She opens her mouth to say something but Scott juts his chin behind her. “Your secret’s safe with me, Tessa. But maybe go serve the customer at the front counter—that lady’s starting to scare me.” He gives her the beginning of a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

It takes her until the end of her shift to realise that Scott had added the last four letters of her name again, and even though something’s been added, she feels like there’s something she's lost.

–

It’s awkward with Scott the next shift she works with him.

He'd said 'hi' when she walked in but all she could give was a weak, tight-lipped smile. 

While she acknowledges and believes that he’d keep her secret, and she doesn’t think that he’s the kind of person who’d break people’s trust, she’s still feeling apprehensive. Like her feelings are a neon sign plastered to her forehead.

Scott must have understood and kindly gave her space. 

It’s not until she’s turned around to say his name to ask him to grab the twizzle fries for the next order and he’s not there.

Kaetlyn catches her gaping at the empty space. “Tess, you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. Can you put two large fries in this bag?

Kaetlyn takes the bag away from her, nodding. 

Tessa shakes her head and moves on to the next order. The feeling of _wrongness_ lingers in her for the rest of her shift. 

It's not until hours later as she's about to head into the room where the all the girls keep their stuff to grab hers that she nearly runs into him coming out of the boys'.

"Scott!" she yelps, "Sorry."

"Shit, Tessa. Are you okay? Did I hit you?" 

"No, no. I'm fine. Just startled me."

He sighs in relief. "Got me worried there. But sorry for scaring you." Another awkward pause. He avoids her eyes and clears his throat. “Okay,” he tucks his hands into the pocket of his hoodie that he's thrown on over his uniform, "well, see you."

"Wait!" 

He turns back to look at her, confused. 

"I'm sorry," she says. "For being all weird and awkward."

He's about to say something but she doesn't give him time to interject. 

"I don't—not trust you. I mean—I trust you. I know you won't run around gossiping about me. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

He shrugs, lips slightly quirked. It makes her sure that that is exactly what she'd made him think. "It's okay."

"It's not and I'm sorry."

"I get it. I’d hate it if someone found out who I—" he stops, backtracks, pausing. “You know,” he says slowly, “if you want, I can—” he swallows “—I can help you with getting the guy.” He nudges with his elbow, “I’m pretty good friends with Stefan. I can put in a good word for you.”

“It’s not a job application, Scott,” she rolls her eyes.

He shrugs his shoulders in a short ‘Well, I tried’ kind of way. It’s honestly very kind of him, but it’s too much to ask. Besides, she’s had her share of heartbreaks already, boys she thought would treat her right but didn’t. She’s happy living in a daydream for a little while longer.

“You working tomorrow?”

“Yep. You?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then?”

“I will.” There’s a grin back on his face and it reaches his eyes, although it’s like someone’s turned the dimmer down—like a flickering, dying flame.

He’s gone before she can try to find the words to ask him what’s going on in his head.

–

Scott, apparently, has a hidden dream of being a matchmaker and doesn’t take notice of Tessa turning down his offer of helping her.

She doesn’t realise this until she’s come from out the back, her arms full of stock, and she finds Scott talking to Stefan, who’s casually leaning against the counter.

She nearly drops everything she's holding. Luckily, Scott keeps it steady, going so far as to take everything from her. “Why don’t _you_ take Stefan’s order, eh? I was just telling him how Suzanne added quads to the menu and he needs to try them.” He winks at her once his back is turned.

It’s the first time it happens, but not the last.

It’s somehow conveniently her that takes Stefan’s order almost every single time, Scott lingering in the periphery of her vision, all conspiratorial smiles that she’d tell him are too obvious except her stuttering and blushing are probably clearer tells of where her heart’s at.

Talking to Stefan gets easier with each conversation—there's less stammering and more actual words—so she has to concede that Scott's 'accidental' help is actually helping.

"See? I'm helping," he tells her smugly when she admits this. 

"I'm so obvious, though," she winces. "He probably sees right through me and feels awkward about it."

"Nah, he's a genuine guy. If he's talking to you, he likes talking to you. Also," he adds, "he was asking me if you're gonna be in today so…"

"Really?"

"Yeah. You can just ask him out, you know. I can't think of a single guy who'd turn you down."

She snorts. “Mm-hmm, yeah, sure. You're too much of a smooth talker, Scott."

"I'm serious."

"Look," she sighs, "I'll think about it, okay?" 

"See? That's more like it." 

–

There's this ice cream place that opened up recently, and Tessa's heard two things about it. 

One: the ice-cream is to die for, in all the flavours you can think of and a few you can't, the texture silky smooth, the taste like the sweetest heaven. 

Two: the reason you'd probably die is because of the scary Russian lady that owns the place. 

Anyway, she goes to check _Arctic Edge_ out on her own first, see if it's something she needs to drag Jordan to the next time she comes home. 

She doesn't expect to run into Scott in line.

“Scott!” she says, startled. “Hi.”

“Hey, Tessa. You craving ice-cream too?”

“Yeah, I heard good things about it.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “But not about the owner? Marina, is that her name?”

“I’ve heard some weird stuff too. Someone swore that she was part of the Russian mafia? That might be taking it too far,” he chuckles.

She laughs along with him, but stands straighter once she’s at the front of the line. “Ohhh...there are so many flavours,” she worries her bottom lip, looking at the spectrum of colours laid out in tubs in columns of two.

“Something chocolate, eh? Don’t think I don’t see you put all that extra chocolate topping on your cappuccinos.”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“That triple chocolate one is calling your name, Tessa.”

Damn it, it is.

He’s got too smug a smile on his face when she turns around with the ice-cream in a cup. She scans all the flavours. “Bubblegum,” she says decisively. “That one’s your flavour.”

He buys it at her suggestion. He sits down at a nearby table and she follows him, taking the chair opposite. She watches his eyes widen in surprise as he tastes it for the first time, then watches as they close as he savours.

“See? Told you.” It’s childlike wonder and unbridled joy wrapped in a multitude of bright colours—if there’s an ice-cream that’s Scott, it’d be that.

It melts down the cone and over his knuckles, and she watches as he chases the drips with his tongue.

She flushes, and averts her gaze, turning back to her own ice-cream. She has another spoonful, the cold hitting her teeth and making her wince.

“So, Tessa, I was wondering,” he leans forward on the table, “and feel free to tell me to stop being nosy, but since I’m your designated wingman, can I ask...why Stefan?”

She looks around the ice-cream shop by reflex, but there’s no one there they know.

“You don’t have to answer. But if you want someone to girl-talk with…” he offers and she laughs.

She finds herself sharing it with him, anyway. “I don’t—it’s hard to articulate. Because I think he’s good-looking, but that’s not enough, is it? And he’s nice, but I think the most honest reason I like him is…” she falters. It’s a carefully guarded thing, hidden and precious, and for a moment she’s scared that the moment she’ll take it out and show it to him it’ll tarnish.

That he’ll scoff and tell her she’s being delusional.

“On my last birthday, I found an envelope taped to my locker. It had my favourite chocolate bar,” she smiles at the memory, “and like, this voucher for the local bookshop, right. When I brought it over there, the lady there said it was to exchange for a book, my actual present. It turned out to be this gorgeous, gold-edged copy of _Persuasion_. Which is one of my favourite books ever.”

She doesn’t know why she needs to repeat this to Scott. She knows he knows her stance on that particular work of Jane Austen from half-delirious rants at work when it’s too late at night, and they’re still cleaning.

There’s something about the story about second chances, about two people finding each other again even when mistakes had been made, that made her adore it so.

“I know.”

“It was just signed ‘from S.M.’. The envelope, I mean.” She traces the tabletop. “I guess that’s not a guarantee, it’s just initials, but the week before that during our lit class together, in the pair discussion he brought up the book. And that’s the first time anyone’s ever brought up the book to me, which was weird. A good-weird, but still weird. And during class the next day, he _looked_ at me and it felt like…it meant something. And it’s just too much of a coincidence, right?”

Scott’s quiet when she looks up at him.

“Yeah,” he scrubs his nose with the back of his hand. “That’s too much of a coincidence.”

–

When it finally happens, it comes at the end of a stressful shift. The kind where she emerges out of it in a daze, unsure whether the last eight hours actually happened.

(The lady who ordered thirteen kids’ boxes with specific ratios of girl's and boy's toys—Tessa’s sure she’s a lovely person in real life, but what she ordered should be illegal.)

She watches Scott as he’s about to hand out an order to a customer at the drive-thru. She bites her lip to keep from giggling when he forgets to press the button to open the window and he accidentally runs into it.

“Tessa?” She’s jolted by a now-familiar voice. 

“Stefan! Hey, can I take your order?”

“The usual? Am I a regular enough customer to ask that?” he jokes.

She laughs. “Yeah, I can say that you are.” Especially thanks to Scott’s matchmaking-slash-meddling. She puts his order through. “It won’t be long before it’s ready. You’ve just missed the worst rush I can ever remember working.”

“That sounds rough. You deserve a reward after making it through that.” He winks, and not long ago that would’ve been enough to send a mass of butterflies overcrowding her stomach, but it doesn’t now. 

It’s funny, this realisation. She still finds him good-looking, and nice, and charming, but it’s like she was more infatuated with the idea of him, than the reality.

She gives him his drink first, then his burger and fries once they’re ready.

She’s ready to dive into all the clean-up that’s needed after a horrendous rush—someone’s spilt the m&m toppings and there’s salt sachets scattered across the floor, seriously, what led to that?—when Stefan says her name again.

“Yeah? Did I forget something?” 

She’s sure she didn’t. She’s meticulous about checking orders ever since a customer was furious with her on the first day of the job because she’d put a six-pack of nuggets in the bag instead of a ten-pack. She’s incredibly grateful that Suzanne had put the customer in their place, defending that Tessa was still learning and a mistake like that was easily fixed. Suzanne had firmly reiterated behaviour like that wasn’t going to be tolerated in her store, and the customer had walked away with a huff. Tessa never saw them again.

“Nah, you didn’t. But I’ve been thinking…” Stefan smirks, “you should let me take you out sometime.”

She freezes. “I’m sorry, what...me? And you?”

“Yeah.” He says it like he’s only expecting one answer. She’s not sure she likes that.

A week ago, there would’ve been one answer, but she hesitates now. Maybe that should’ve told her something about the answer she should give, but she looks at Scott tucked away in the corner near the drive-thru window. Scott, who must’ve heard everything, and is now grinning like a fool, mouthing “Go on,” and giving her two thumbs’ up.

She’s so, so confused, because it all feels wrong and off-kilter somehow, this scene that seems like something out of a novel or a fairytale. There’s a script to follow she’s sure, like when she’s taking orders.

_Hi, Welcome to Suzanne’s! What can I get—Is that in a meal—Is that in a large—anything else?_

“Okay,” she replies. There’s a script to follow she’s sure, and she thinks that’s the right answer.

Stefan asks for her number, and she gives it to him.

(There’s another crumpled cup that Scott dropped and kicked under the drinks machine that Tessa doesn’t see.)

–

By some stroke of bad luck, she gets rostered at work on the same day that she has her date with Stefan. It’s not the most ideal thing, considering she would have liked more time to look presentable, but she’ll make do.

“Tessa, I’m so sorry,” is the first thing Scott says to her as she’s clocking in. “I know you’ve got your date tonight and I would’ve tried swap around so I can cover your shift but I’ve been rostered on too and—”

“Scott, breathe,” she laughs, “you’ve done so much for me already. It’ll be fine. I talked to Stefan and he said he’ll come here to get me.”

“Okay, okay, I hope you have a good time, yeah? You’ve wanted this for ages.” He's got a smile like something wistful.

There are moments where she's not sure it's what she really wants, but she's agreed to it. It's only one date. It doesn't need to go anywhere if the night ends and she realises Stefan's not the guy for her. 

But all the wishes in Scott's eyes makes her want to do something to make them come true for him. “Scott, is there someone for you? You’ve done so much for me and...I want to do the same for you.”

She knows Scott’s dated before, the number of times she can count on one hand. But when she thinks about it, she hasn’t heard of him dating anyone in a while.

He gazes at her, an open question. “There is this girl,” he confesses, shy and soft, “but she’s into someone else.” He sighs, but there’s no resentment, just a sort of acceptance, and shrugs. “That’s the way it goes sometimes, eh?”

“What?!” That can’t be how his story ends. Not Scott, who’s one of the best people she knows. Who’s good and kind and funny (and handsome, her mind supplies out of the blue, but she ignores that because it feels like the wrong thing to think.) “How could she not—who is she? Have you told her?”

(She’s also steadfastly ignoring the squeezing clench in her chest at the look of adoration and affection on his face when he thinks about his mystery girl. It’s sadness at his heartache, she tells herself. She’s pretty sure.)

“No, I haven’t, but I know she doesn’t feel the same way,” he says simply.

“Scott, I—” she’s itching in her skin, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” his grin is as easy as ever, but when he shrugs his shoulders seem heavy. He points to the direction of the front counter, “But we better actually start working before we get yelled at.”

–

She tries to catch his eye during their shift, tries to find an opening to talk to him.

He doesn’t let her.

–

“Hey, man. Thanks for setting us up. Tessa’s so fuckin’ hot, you know?” Stefan’s voice floats from the front counter to the managers' office where she’s about to clock out. She cringes at the supposed compliment.

“Tessa’s beautiful,” Scott corrects. Her heart stops in her chest. She shakes her head, pressing her thumb against the scanner to clock out. "Take care of her, okay? I mean, she can take care of herself, obviously. But be there for her when she gets all in her head." He pauses. "She says she likes her coffee straight but she really wants two sugars and extra chocolate topping. She gets this little frown when she's annoyed at you, but it's easy to make her laugh. She's got the best laugh. Her right shoulder usually gets more sore than the left. You can tell when it's sore because she's rubbing it. Her favourite colour is blue, but not light blue or midnight blue but royal blue. And Tessa's _always_ right." She watches the back of his head as he gives a small laugh ."She's always right."

Stefan's looking at Scott funny. He glances up to see her and gives her a half-smirk. "Hey, Tess. You ready?" 

"Yeah." Why does it feel like someone's just pulled the floor from beneath her? She tucks her hair behind her ear out of nervousness. 

She says goodbye to everyone before she slips out the staff door. Scott doesn't look at her when he says goodbye, just keeps on aggressively wiping the dining trays.

Stefan's got his hand on the small of her back, leading her out, and he's saying something but she turns to look back at Scott just before she leaves. He's stopped wiping the dining trays, his hands planted on the counter surface. His head's bowed and Chiddy's beside him whispering something.

"...Tessa?" 

She snaps her head up to look at Stefan. "Huh? What were you saying? Sorry, I zoned out for a minute."

"I was just talking about the ice cream place I was gonna take you to first? Scott said your flavour was the triple chocolate one."

It is, and Scott’s is bubblegum. It feels wrong for Stefan to take her to a place she now realises she thinks of as hers-and-Scott’s. But then there’s also no reason for her to feel that way about an ice-cream place they went to once together. Well, kind of, accidentally together.

“Um...is there somewhere else we can go to?”

He looks at her, smiling like he’s not sure what to make of her suggesting, “Sure, we can. I’ve got just the place.”

He takes her to a Mediterannean restaurant that’s way too fancy for two high schoolers, the kind that probably requires a reservation weeks in advance, but he tells her his dad knows the guy who owns the place and they’re quickly seated. It’s the kind of restaurant with low, ambient lighting, plush seats, too many pairs of cutlery set out, and black, embossed menus.

She feels like a fish out of water, especially since she still thinks she’s got grease embedded into her very being from coming off her shift.

It’s _nice_ , she supposes. It just doesn’t feel...right.

But now isn’t the time to feel ungrateful, and she focuses her attention on the boy in front of her.

“So,” she clears her throat, picking up the menu, “what do you recommend to eat?”

“I like the chorizo pilaf, or the caponata. But anything they’ve got here is good.” 

She nods, scanning the menu. She glances at the prices and her heart stops. Oh god, she’s too used to fast food.

She puts the menu down. Actually, now’s probably the best time to clarify the thing that started all this.

“Hey, Stefan,” she asks hesitantly, “have you ever given anyone at school, uh, anything?” It’s the weirdest, vaguest way to phrase the question and Stefan just looks at her confusedly.

She tries again, “For example, hypothetically, you leaving something at their locker…?”

He shakes his head slowly, “No, never. What makes you ask that?”

“No reason,” she says, picking up the menu again.

It’s funny how this realisation doesn’t break her heart. When she thinks about it, maybe this feeling that it wasn’t Stefan who left the present at her locker has been lingering unnoticed in the back of her mind for a while now. It’s almost a relief, and that’s an unexpected feeling.

But the question still stands. Who did?

_10:21 pm, a random Friday months ago; Suzanne’s, just as it’s about to close_

_“T,” Scott says patiently as he was changing the syrups for the frozen drinks, “I know how much you love Captain Wentworth, okay? With the umbrella and making sure Anne had a seat when she was tired and the letter. You told me, like, last week.”_

_“But,” she holds her finger up, using the mop to support her weight, “it doesn’t hurt you to hear it again. He just had an umbrella, Scott,” she repeats, almost-delirious from fatigue at this point, “and the letter he was writing when she was right there—”_

_“‘You pierce my soul. I am half-agony, half-hope,’” Scott quotes. He’s smiling as he’s shaking his head, exasperated by her, she’s sure. He stands up, glancing at her as he carries the empty boxes. “‘I have loved none but you.’”_

She doesn’t know where the memory came from, so vivid and achingly clear. But it all makes sense now.

_S.M._

She knows what those letters stand for now. And she knows she definitely fucked up.

“I’m sorry,” she stands up, knocking the table and she barely stops her glass from toppling over. “I’m really sorry, Stefan, but I need to go.”

“But...we just got here?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think—” she takes a deep breath. She should’ve been honest from the very start, instead of trying to do what’s perceived as the right thing. “I’m sorry. I think...I think we’re better off just as friends, Stefan. Thank you for this,” she gestures vaguely around them, this place that’s so picture-perfect and romantic on paper. “But I really need to go.”

“Okay,” he concedes, shrugging like it’s not a big loss.

She offers him an apologetic smile. There’s a girl out there who’ll like this kind of date and this kind of boy, but she’s not that girl.

–

She's at Scott’s house as soon as she can. Funny the things that stick without you realising. It’s been a while now since that math project but she finds she still knows the way.

His mom opens the door. "Hi dear, how can I help you?" 

"Hi. My name's Tessa. May I please speak with Scott?" 

"Oh, you're Tessa! Scott always talks about you." She smiles, so much like her son that it makes her ache. "Scott!” she yells inside. “Someone's here to see you!" 

There’s the faint sound of footsteps inside, but her attention is drawn back to Scott’s mom introducing herself. "I’m Alma, by the way. Come in, Tessa. Do you want something to eat?" she asks.

She's feeling too jittery to go inside. "Is it okay if I stay out here? If Scott doesn't mind?" 

Scott appears beside his mom, in a T-shirt and sweats that look so soft and worn-in. "Tessa?" 

His mom slips back into their house. He steps out and shuts the door behind him. "Shouldn't you be at...what can I do for you?" 

"Why didn't you tell me?" she blurts out. 

Scott frowns, "Tell you what?" 

"That it was you—the chocolate and the book and—" She has to stop, the ache in her throat and her eyes too much. 

"I didn't—I couldn't—" 

"Why did you do it?" 

"You know why," he says softly. 

"I don't—I don't—" 

He rakes his hand through his hair. "I'm kind of hopelessly in love with you, Tess."

“No.” She shakes her head and he rocks back on his heels. “No. Scott, you can’t be,” her voice breaks, “because you’ve been helping me with Stefan and that means—” she squeezes her eyes shut “—I’ve been hurting you.”

 _There is this girl,_ he had said with a sigh and a shrug, _but she’s into someone else._

“I don’t want to have hurt you, Scott,” she wipes her tears with the back of her hand. “You’re one of the best people I know.”

“That was my choice to make,” he says gently. “I want you to be happy.”

She sobs fully then, her vision blurring from the tears, and there’s this painful, painful ache in her chest.

His arms are around her and she should step back, she knows, she doesn't deserve this, not his warmth or his comfort or any part of him. But she doesn't, just melts into him and he, so selfless and good and _Scott_ , just holds her until her sobs subside. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers, over and over and over. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm gonna be here, okay? For as long as you want me to." 

"You don't need to."

"But I want to. It's the best thing, you know, being your friend."

"But you said you lo—" She can't finish that word, because she doesn't deserve it, not from him. 

"Yeah." His arms loosen and it makes the pain worse. "Maybe, I think, with time, it'll…fade."

She feels his chest shake with a laugh but it sounds more sad than anything. 

He loosens himself fully from her hold, doing it ever-so-gently but decisively, and she steps back even when it feels like she’s losing a limb.

“Wait, Tess, shouldn’t you be on your date with Stefan still?”

She should be, but the moment she realised the truth, the only person she wanted, _needed_ , to see was him.

She thinks of the fingerprints he always leaves on the drive-thru windows, as he leans on the glass to say ‘hi’ to all the little kids and the dogs that pass through. The fingerprints that annoy her to no end because she’s just cleaned the glass, dammit Scott, and now she has to clean them again.

She thinks of fingerprints, how each person has their own set of whorls and arches and curves, how it's left on everything that person touches.

If someone were to inspect her heart, like a detective in a crime scene, they'd find his.

“You always arrive fifteen minutes early before your shifts,” she blurts out. “You make the best ice cream cones.” She thought he’d smile brighter at that, but all he gives her is something soft and worn. “Your favourite time of the day is whenever the little kids come in and you make time to have a conversation with every single one of them. I know you’re tired when you’re leaning against something, even though you’re always smiling at all the customers anyway. You never leave without getting something for your mom and dad.”

He opens his mouth like he’s about to interrupt but she keeps on going, needs to get these words out into the open air before she overthinks them. He can do whatever he wants with them once she’s given them to him—let them linger, let them shatter, or let them fade—but for now, she needs him to hear them.

“I think I’m breaking your heart,” she whispers. “But I think I love you too.”

He freezes.

“I shouldn’t, I know. It’s too late. You deserve someone who would’ve noticed you first, who would’ve put you first.” She wishes she was that girl. She wishes she deserved him. “But you’re the person who—” she takes a shaky breath, “—when I see you, I don’t wish I was anywhere else. You’re the first person I want to tell when I get the rudest customer or when one of the shy kids trying their best to order makes me smile. All your jokes make me laugh, even when they’re not that funny, but I always want to hear another one.” 

She wishes she could turn back time, known then what she knows now. That what she feels for him was like a seed planted when they first met, nurtured by how good he is to her, growing so infinitesimally in the day to day that she hadn’t realised how deeply the roots had grown, or how full the branches had become.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

“T,” he says softly, and it makes her want to cry harder because it’s her nickname that she’s missed all this time.

Her fists are clenched at her sides, and she’s about to tell him goodbye; knows she’s going to think about how she’s going to face him at work, reconcile all their missed chances and open her palms and let them go, and wonder if she’s still allowed to wish to keep him in her life, as her friend.

“T, hey,” he says, just as soft, gently taking one of her fists and running his thumb softly over her skin until she opens them. “Do you...do you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you...that you feel the same way. As me.”

“Yeah,” she says, the truth falling from her lips at the tug of his words.

He takes her other hand, massaging her skin gently until she opens it as well. Her shoulders drop, and he takes each of her hands in one of his. Brings them to his lips to brush them over her skin, like a prince in a fairytale or the knights of old.

But he’s neither of those things—he’s real, and he’s here.

He’s got his arms around her again, her hands falling to his chest. There’s a sort of inevitability when he brings his head close as she leans forward, but she hesitates at the last moment, this voice at the back of her mind telling her she doesn’t deserve him, not when she’s been so blind.

Scott notices her hesitation and doesn’t close the gap, just lets her breathe in this charged space that feels like it’s about to spark. His chest rises deep and slow.

It’s in the quiet that she tells herself that yes, she’d been blind, and yes, she’d inadvertently hurt him, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t let herself love him, or let himself love her. It’s not a matter of _deserving_. It’s not about a competition or a pedestal.

Sometimes, love is the simplest truth.

That’s all it takes for her to lean up and touch her lips to his. It’s an acceptance, an apology, an assurance.

It’s chaste and innocent and sweet, and she doesn’t know who pulls back first, only that she opens her eyes to find his full of wonder, and that she closes them when he kisses her again. Her mouth parts, and she’s full of the taste of him. He tastes of hope, of possibility.

She has to catch her breath. They stand almost chest to chest, foreheads touching.

“Tessa,” he says, and it doesn’t feel like a loss. She traces the curve of his smile, knowing it’s mirrored in her own.

–

She ends up coming inside, just as Scott’s mom had asked. 

Tessa notices that Alma had a look of concern when they walked back on the house, since they were a little tear-stricken and emotional, but her eyes had lingered on her and Scott’s clasped hands. She didn’t say anything, just offered her some chocolate-chip cookies she had made earlier.

They all sit at the Moirs’ kitchen table, chatting about Alma’s work once Tessa asks about it, Scott’s embarrassing childhood stories (much to his protest), their funniest customer stories at work. There’s a steaming cup of tea in front of Tessa that Alma had made for her, the plate of cookies slowly dwindling.

(They’re holding hands under the table. Alma pretends not to notice.)

–

Tessa didn’t know that all her coworkers at _Suzanne’s_ were invested in her and Scott. In Piper’s words, they were the soap opera that everyone was tuning into every single shift.

“Well, at least we figured it out,” she replies. “I wish I’d realised my feelings sooner.” She glances up at Scott who’s on the opposite side of the store, who looks back at her and smiles. “I don’t...I don’t deserve him.”

But she’s gonna do everything she can to show him how much he means to her.

Later, she overhears Andrew teasing Scott as Scott’s putting down fries in the fryer. “Scott, you could have taken her out to someplace fancier,” Andrew shakes his head.

“Maybe, but we had a pretty good first date, eh, T?” he winks at her and she blushes.

They had just ended up coming here, because it was open late and they could use their employee discount. She still remembers Chiddy’s relieved “Oh, thank god,” from when he’d poked his head out from the kitchen and he’d seen that she and Scott had walked in holding hands. Suzanne had teared up when she was taking their orders, Kaitlyn grinning like a loon when she’d given their orders out.

She’d snuggled against him where they’d sat in one of the corner booths, full on burgers and fries and her hot chocolate that Scott asked for extra chocolate topping on. He’d pressed his lips to her temple, his arm around her, her head tucked just under his chin.

“Hey, T, remember that math project we had last year?” he’d asked out of the blue.

“Yeah. I still think it was weird for Ms Noether to make us do a class presentation for math but I guess it was good for our grade?”

“Perfect score, thanks to you, T.”

She’d poked him in the side. “And you too!”

“Nah, it was all you.”

“What did we do it about, again? We just had to pick a random topic to present on, didn’t we?” She’d tilted her head, trying to remember. “Oh! We did it on important constants. Like pi, the golden ratio, e.”

“That’s right,” he’d chuckled, “I remember we were sitting at my kitchen table and you corrected my pronunciation of Euler. And that’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I’m...yours.” He’d grinned, eyes crinkling.

“Oh.” She’d bitten her bottom lip, feeling teary all of a sudden. Scott’s exactly like one of those mathematical constants, steady and certain and sure, the kind that’s easy to take for granted because he’s always there for you. She’s never going to take him for granted again.

He’d dropped her off, kissed her once again at her doorstep in the moonlight. 

She already knows it’s a memory she’s tucked away, the precious kind she’ll take out and unfold and affectionately remember years and years from now.

“It was perfect,” she admits with a soft smile here in the present, and Scott grins, pumping his fist.

She shakes her head but it’s more fond than anything. God, she adores him. 

Scott finishes a half-hour before she does, and she calls him over as he exits out of the staff door. She takes out a full paper bag from under the counter and pushes it towards him.

“What’s this, T?” He’s got this bemused look on his face, but his smile is soft and she adores it. She loves that he can let himself look at her in this way, and that she can let herself see it.

“Just look.”

He opens the paper bag and just looks even more confused. “Why are there so many sauce packets in this bag?”

She laughs, tracing the bumps of the knuckles of one of his hands. “Remember your theory about me and not giving away packets of sauce for free? Well…” she glances down at the bag that’s near overflowing, “this is how much more you mean to me.” She glances up at him, bites her bottom lip. “It’s how much I love you.”

“Oh,” he breathes, shifting his hand so that his fingers tangle with hers. He swallows hard, and tries to joke, “This might count as stealing though.”

Tessa shakes her head, grinning. “No, I cleared it with Suzanne earlier. It’s yours to keep, for as long as you want.”

He looks down at the bag, and back up at her. “I’ll always want everything you’re willing to give me.”

He looks at her like he still doesn’t believe she’s his, but she’s going to do everything she can to give him reasons to. 

“You’ll be done in half an hour, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” she looks up at him. “Wait for me?”

He smiles back, his hand in hers, “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> a final note that the title of the fic is from the iconic Letter™ in _Persuasion_ :
>
>> I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. **_Tell me not that I am too late_** , that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.
> 
> (Sorry, I just love this book so much...I couldn't resist using part of the letter as the title.) 
> 
> Wishing you a wonderful day! <3


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